Saturday (not in the Park)

1) wake up, moan, bathroom, groan, etc.
2) goodbye dear, have a good day at work.
3) crawl back into bed, nap just a little bit longer.
4) crawl back out of bed, moan, groan, etc.
5) bag up the trash for delivery to the designated trash receptacles, lest it overfloweth upon yon floors.
6) sit down and look for the daily prompt which should be there by now, but isn’t, grumble.

Damn, tummy-rumble asks why we didn’t put breakfast in somewhere between steps one and six. Breakfast is something I do with other people, rarely with just me. Breakfast requires Cooking, or at least Pouring Cereal. Too much effort, generally.

The Idiot Box calls, with its siren song, drawing us. Come, zombie-out, accomplish nothing at all and wonder where your day went. Cooommme.

Back, foul temptress, back to the demon-hells which spawned thee.

See, I have enough will power to overcome the Siren Song of the Idiot Box. At least most days.

Tummy is growing more insistent. “Surely then, if you are not to watch tele, we should eat?” Clever ruse, mister. But I’m on to your game.

The Internet…check your email, maybe some facebook… Oh, the whole distraction first team line-up is with us this morning.

You goofy exercise nuts have probably jogged three miles by now, in your young and tight little bods. Well I’ve jogged down the hall, to the bathroom and back, so there. And it’s January. Pay attention.

Eventually, I will reach the end of this post, almost certainly without having ever discovered its purpose. That’s stream-of-consciousness babble for you, Pulitzers are unlikely to be awarded.

At least I can then indulge myself with one or other distractions and not feel horrible guilty while the blog screen stares at me. It stares! Damn blog-stalker.

Could be back in bed napping some more, couldn’t I?

Scroll up, scroll down. No, nothing more to add. Time to go dive into a distraction!